The latter counted the plates, finding eight.
"We shan't need this plate, Bob," declared Blaisdell evenly, handing it back.

Then he began to carve.
"Put that plate back with the rest, Bob, you pop-eyed coyote," ordered Bad Pete.
Bob, looking uneasy, started to do so, but Blaisdell waved him away.

At that instant Jake Wren came back into the tent.
"For the present, Jake," went on the assistant engineer, "serve only for seven in this tent.

Pete is leaving us." "Do you mean-----" flared Pete, leaping to his feet and striding toward the engineer.
"I mean," responded Blaisdell, without looking up, "that we hope the chainmen's mess will take you on.

But if they don't like you, they don't have to do so." For ten seconds, while Pete stood glaring at Blaisdell, it looked as though the late guest would draw his revolver.